


PROTOCOL

by JanewayorNoWay



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/F, First Time, Love, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 07:14:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16990434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JanewayorNoWay/pseuds/JanewayorNoWay
Summary: A by-the-book Starfleet Captain muses about the private self she's discovered with a certain beautiful, blonde, ex-borg.





	PROTOCOL

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still working on HUMANITY, will post a chapter as a Christmas gift for everyone. This story came to me in a flash and was written in a few hours, polished in a few more. I have appreciated so many people reading my stories, and the handful of people who leave Kudos and Comments (you're the real MVPs). 
> 
> I started writing J/7 fanfic when I got writer's block in my real life. I discovered it accidentally. I just tried a story and guess what? I didn't have writer's block. However, for months, it was the only place I could write freely. Now, a year later, I'm back to writing for a living. My new goal: Get better at writing narrative fiction. And hopefully, churn out some top notch J/7 fanfic. I'm learning so many things about myself as a writer through these stories.
> 
> Anyone can email me for private thoughts or input they don't feel comfortable sharing in the comments: Coady417@gmail.com
> 
> Also, Thanks to Treadstone17 for spelling and grammar help on Humanity, and others who reached out to be Beta Readers. I've been swamped and plan on replying to all those emails today.

I move seamlessly among the crew in the mess hall, a champagne flute in my hand, celebrating our 4th Prixin with our resident Talaxian, Neelix.

They always stiffen as I approach, nervous at the idea of making conversation with the great Captain Janeway. Captain “24/7 command mask, stickler for protocol, no wiggle room for Starfleet Principles” Janeway. Some of that is training and some is just innate to me as a person. I _am_ a hard ass, I _do_ expect a level of formality and protocol from myself as well as anyone on my crew.

Especially since getting lost in the Delta Quadrant.

I understood, the day I destroyed the Caretaker’s Array, that I would have to set a standard for myself so that no matter how long it took to get home, I would retain my command authority. It was too dangerous to let it slack. No Starfleet captain had ever commanded any crew longer. I had to hold myself to a standard that would leave no room for doubt or uncertainty.

But, innately, I am a more formal, reserved, moral and ethical private person. I’m not a mingler. I prefer a remove from my crew.  This is a quality Starfleet seeks in their officer candidates. That, and a love of protocol, structure, and a deeply ingrained ethical and moral compass. All the Starfleet psych tests were built around discovering these essential traits. I had passed with flying colors.

So, as I sip my champagne and cast my eye over the gathered crowd, a wry grin escapes. If only they knew who their Captain had become in the privacy of her bedroom in the last 8 weeks.

These discoveries about who I could actually be in private were a complete surprise to me. I understood that I’d possibly never actually been in love before.

I had removed love as an option for myself, even after Mark moved on. I had stranded us in the Delta Quadrant. I was responsible for 141 souls. I would not allow myself the luxury. Duty, protocol, they were my primary drives.

Then she came on board. Still, I refused to allow my mind to go there. Morally, ethically, I would not cross that line. It wasn’t a conscious effort, I am built on discipline. I simply shut it down. Successfully. Then, there was the away trip.

I’d been on the bridge when Lt. Torres called from the planet. They’d been caught in a nitrogen-ice storm. One of the many horrors of the Delta Quadrant. Frozen slivers of nitrogen, like tiny razors, whipping into you at warp 10.

I could barely hear B’Elanna over the screams of the away team as the particles pierced their uniforms, shredding them away.

“Harry! Get them out of there!”

“I can’t get a lock through the storm!”

Just before her comm cut out, I heard two words: “Three dead.”

" _Seven,”_ I thought.

I have no memory of sprinting to the turbo lift. My mind only becomes lucid again when I’m in the transporter room, standing next to Tuvok and his security team. I was shaking, waiting, as they struggled to beam the away team back to the ship. I stood and watched as they slowly coalesced into view one by one. It was a nightmare parade. Their uniforms were shredded, their skin abraded away, blood seeping out of pores. I helped poor Chakotay, looking like a bloody ghost, carrying a dead crewmember with him. “Beam them directly to sickbay,” I ordered. One, two, three, four had returned. I was waiting for two more dead and B’Elanna. Seven and Samantha Wildman. The last two crewmembers. My heart dropped into my gut. I was going to be sick…

And then, she appeared, like a Viking Goddess. Her tall frame bent over them, her blonde hair falling loosely around their shoulders, her body used as a shield, her arms holding them tightly to her, hands covering their faces and necks, protecting exposed skin from the razor-like frozen nitrogen. Her biosuit had done a stellar job of protecting her but, her own exposed skin, face, neck, hands, were covered in bloody abrasions. Torres and Wildman, the only two mothers on board, were unscathed. I knew then that everything I had believed about my duty to Starfleet had just been blown out the nearest airlock.

“Lt. Torres, you stated there were three expired crewmen--” Tuvok started.

“Yeah. Because I couldn’t find these two idiots.”

“You are welcome, B’Elanna Torres,” Seven replied.

 In an instant, B’Elanna was pulling the shocked Borg into a grateful hug.  “Thank you, Seven.”

“You saved two lives today, Seven,” said Ensign Wildman.

“Three,” corrected B’Elanna, as she palmed her growing stomach.

My voice broke as I spoke, “Thank god you’re _all_ alive. Lt. Torres, report to sick bay and log off duty for 48 hours. Ensign Wildman, same for you. But, before you head to sickbay, go hug the Captain’s Assistant for me, I’m sure she needs it.”

As soon as they left, I grabbed Seven, “Come on, I’ll walk you to sickbay.” In the turbo lift, I grabbed her and held her, my heart beating out of control. “I can’t lose you, Seven,” I said. Before she could reply, I tenderly kissed a trail along the abrasions on her face and neck. She responded without hesitation, wrapping her arms around my waist, dropping her hands to my buttocks, pulling me in as  her lush lips clasped onto mine.

That was eight weeks ago. Since then, I’ve discovered I am not who I thought I was.

I had no idea she could do that to me. Make me love with abandon. I’d never known this kind of want. I loved her deeply, I wanted her constantly. It was adolescent almost.

And so, here I am, in a room full of people, stick-up-her-ass Captain, and all I can think about is how easily she can make me beg, how many unlady-like positions I’ve been in, feral in my want for her. How devoted my Borg was to exploring unconventional methods for delivering mind-blowing orgasms and how easily I submitted to these explorations, “ _Oh, on my stomach with my ass in the air? Yes, ma’am.”_

But, the most forbidden loss of control? I cried. I was weak and self-pitying, scared, plagued by guilt. I let her see it all. She was spectacular. For someone who says she’s not human she was the most tender, loving and emotionally open person I’ve ever known. She holds nothing back. I decided I would return the favor.

What can I say? I’m madly in love with someone who’s madly in love with me. Pretty heady stuff for an old broad.

I catch her eye from across the room, we both grin. God she’s gorgeous. How did I get so lucky? As she crosses to me I notice all eyes are on her, every man in the room thinking he’s got a chance.

“Captain,” she says and does that little nod of hers.

“Seven,” I reply and reach up, feather my hand through her hair and pull her down for a kiss filled with everything I feel for her. I’m in head-over-heals love for the first time in my life and I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks.


End file.
